The Valley of Fear
by assbuttfortwo
Summary: Post s3 of Sherlock & 9.03 of Supernatural / The search for Moriarty leads John and Sherlock to America where they run into the Winchesters. Maybe the angels are right about fate after all, considering Moriarty has been brought back as a demon and is working with Abaddon. Despite Sherlock's disbelief, he'll have to pair up with the Winchesters to stop Hell from raining down.


The deterioration of the human body is not at all charming. In the moment of death the heart stops, the skin gets tight and becomes an ashen color, and all the muscles relax, causing the bladder and bowels to empty. Within thirty minutes the skin becomes discolored, blood pools at the bottom on the body, and the eyes sink into the skull. However, this can be prevented if the body is properly preserved. Normally the corpses in morgues are kept at temperatures between 2 °C (36 °F) and 4 °C (39 °F), but this only slows down decomposition and does not stop it. Those kept between −10 °C (14 °F) and −50 °C (−58 °F) are completely frozen and decomposition is very much reduced.

Even though it's been two long years, a heart begins to beat, heating the frozen blood until it can circulate through the body once more. But this only came after a rush of swirling, black smoke entered the body through the mouth. It was as if some force was sucking it through, or perhaps it was entering of its own accord.

Lungs expanded and collapsed with new breaths. Pale eyelids, rimmed with black lashes, flicked open to reveal black eyes. They were wholly black, not just the pupils, but also the irises and sclera. They blinked once more and returned to a normal state, dark brown irises and healthy white sclera, as if they hadn't been black and the body hadn't been dead only moments before.

Despite the darkness, he could see quite well. With the exception of a white sheet laid on top of him. His fingers twitched, but before he could grab the fabric to pull it off of him, a bright light poured into the metal drawer. The steel slate that he was on pulled out of the small space and into a white room. Fingers gripped the sheet and folded it back to reveal up to the top of his shoulders. He caught the eyes of the person standing over him. Her gray eyes studied him for a moment. Black eyeliner lined the top of her lids and her red hair sat in waves around her shoulders. Painted red lips pulled into a smirk.

"Moriarty," she greeted him. He couldn't help but notice her American accent.

"You know me, but I don't know you. It seems I'm at a disadvantage here. I don't like the odds being against me." His voice had an edge to it, possibly threatening if he needed it to be.

"What a cute little accent you have." She spoke to him as if he were a child, causing him to grind his teeth in frustration at being belittled. "My name is Abaddon." The red smirk stretched even wider. "And I am your queen."

* * *

Sherlock was bored, just as he often was. John wasn't here to occupy his mind and Lestrade hasn't had a case for him in quite some time. . Playing "where are the cigarettes?" didn't work without a partner, that partner being John. He couldn't shoot at the wall without a gun, which was another misfortune of John not being at Baker Street.

Sherlock had been brought back because of Moriarty's return. But other than the nationwide broadcast, he was no where to be seen and there was no word from him. Mycroft was most likely trying to trace the source of the broadcast. But so far there had only been silence from the consulting criminal.

The buzz of his phone caught his attention.

**Moriarty's activity is stemming from Smith Center, Kansas. John's and your flight leaves at 17:00 tonight. -MH**

_Speak of the Devil and he shall appear_, Sherlock thought. He then frowned in confusion. Moriarty was in America? And Kansas no less? He racked his brain trying to think of anything that could be special about Kansas, but there was nothing that stood out.

He typed a text to John: **Moriarty might be in Kansas. Flight leaving at 17:00. Pack your bag. -SH**

He received a response a few minutes later.

**You can't be serious. Mary's pregnant in case you've forgotten. -JW**

**Of course I didn't forget, but I don't see how that is relevant to Moriarty. -SH**

**I need to be here for her. What if she goes into labor? -JW**

**She has another month and a half until her due date. -SH**

**No. I'm not going. -JW**

Sherlock's thumbs hovered over the keypad about to type a reply, but John beat him to it.

**Never mind, Mary's making me go. -JW**

The corners of his mouth pulled up a fraction of an inch. Of all the women John could've met and married, Sherlock was eternally grateful it was Mary.

* * *

With Kevin in a motel staring at the Angel Tablet, Castiel on the road, and Charlie trying to figure out the supercomputer in the bunker, Sam and Dean didn't have anything to do to occupy their time for once. They had already finished the first season of _the Game of Thrones_ and Dean figured it was time to pick up the next season.

Dean was partially hunched over with one hand against the Impala and the other filling her up with gasoline. "Hey, Dean," Sam called out as he made his way back from the gas station. He held up a newspaper. "Look at what I found: 'Couple in Smith Center Found Dead.' It says that their bodies were discovered in the windmill in Wagner Park. The flesh around their necks and wrists were torn, but no where else."

"It could just be some freak animal attack. Not everything that's strange is our thing, Sammy."

"Yeah, except for the fact that their forearms were covered in bruises in the shape of hands. It's only a 15 minute ride from here."

Dean huffed. "Fine, we'll check it out."

Sam smirked a bit in response. "We can watch _the Game of Thrones_ later."

"Damn it, I want to know what's gonna happen to Daenerys. And what kind of park has a windmill anyway?"


End file.
